Places, Please!: Becoming a Jersey Boy (3 page)

I enter the room and see the very same people who were there the last time. This callback feels exactly the same as the first audition, so I can only imagine that there are just fewer actors being seen today; Merri must be holding this callback just to keep her own head straight.

The Elvis song goes well. The scenes feel pretty good. Merri gives me some direction about how to play Bob, and I try one of the scenes again. She seems pleased enough and calls me over to the table while she writes something on a scrap of paper. It is an address. She says, “We’d like to see you dance on Friday at this location.”

Wonder of wonders! Miracle of mira… wait. Dance? I think I just heard the word,
dance
. Nothing scares me more than the word
dance
. There are very few times in my life when I have been seen dancing, and every one of them was because I was flirting with a certain girl at a certain bar out west. I am engaged to that girl now. And Cara can’t get me to dance anymore.

But dancing is what I have to do, and I have to do it in two days.

I walk home, trying to think of what I can do to give myself some sort of leg up with this dancing. I am considering taking a dance class, just to get my body moving in some kind of rhythm, when I am smacked with the perfect idea. There are lots of YouTube videos of
Jersey Boys
, right? And there is bound to be choreography from the actual show at this dance audition, right? So I am going to learn every bit of choreography I can before Friday!

Now I rush home. I push the rug back in our bedroom, put the computer up against our mirror, and find the four best
Jersey Boys
videos available online. Cara comes home, happy that I am being called back again and hysterical at the idea of me learning choreography in our small bedroom. So what does she do? She vows to learn it with me. And for the next forty-eight hours we are dancing “Who Loves You” and “Walk Like A Man” in our socks, crammed between our king-size bed and two bureaus. Funny girl, that soon-to-be wife of mine.

In addition to being my bedroom dance partner, Cara is also a mother who brought two surprises to my life: her children, Mark and Rachel. Mark is a creative and laid-back teenager attending Art And Design High School in Manhattan with the ability to do just about anything he sets his mind to, and Rachel is just about the most perfect little girl in the world, made even more perfect in my eyes by her recent love for musical theatre. (She learned Shakira songs long ago, but now she knows every word to
The Phantom of the Opera
.) Together, we are a very blond, blended family unit. And for two nights, Mark seems just a bit embarrassed that our window shades remain open while Cara and I learn choreography in our room.

This is a very recent picture of Mark and Rachel, both of them looking very, very old!

©Daniel Robert Sullivan

*         *         *

The dance call takes place in the rehearsal studio of the Hilton Theatre (soon to be known as the Foxwoods Theatre, home to the infamous
Spiderman
:
Turn Off the Dark
). The Hilton is one of the biggest theatres on Broadway, and its rehearsal studio is even bigger. I show up with some semblance of dance attire. You see, real dancers always wear funky, tight, cool-looking dance clothes. And guys who don’t dance at all (and want everyone to know it) wear sweat pants and a loose t-shirt. I am not a real dancer, but I certainly don’t want to project that I am a bad one! So I put together a dance outfit that is not funky like a real dancer might wear, but that is form fitting, black, and cool enough.

There are many guys at this audition. Maybe twenty-five of them. I didn’t expect anything less, but I admit I was hoping there would be an elite group of five or six. But there are twenty-five, and it is just as I expected: some are clearly dancers and ready to impress, and some are guys who belong in a football locker room wearing old sweat pants and baggy Hard Rock Cafe t-shirts.

Many people are warming up by stretching and moving, others are demonstrating that they are not dancers by half mocking the stretching. This is a common occurrence, one I have come to understand as a confidence-boosting technique. When you are in a room with a lot of people who you already know are going to be better dancers than you, it helps your ego to sort of mock the process and set yourself apart as someone different. The show you put on says, “I am here because I am a great actor, or a great singer, and this dancing bit is just a requirement, a mandatory (but unimportant) step in the process of them giving me a part…” It is a show that I have put on myself, though I think I’ve grown out of it. I hope I’ve grown out of it. Ok, I probably haven’t grown out of it. But on this day, I do not participate.

Peter Gregus walks into the room. Peter Gregus originated the role of Bob Crewe in the Broadway cast of
Jersey Boys
and remains in the show to this day. He is also the dance captain and will teach us the choreography. “Good morning, guys! Stretch your right legs ’cuz we’ll be doing the splits.” Um. Ok. The splits. I don’t remember there being any splits in
Jersey Boys
.

We begin with a hip-hop routine. This is the choreography that opens the show. It was not available to watch on YouTube, so I’m fearing the worst. He teaches us the choreography fast and, much to my surprise, I feel ok with it. While I am certainly not great, I actually remember it all when we run it together as a group. Then Peter says, “Ok, we’re going to add a finish to this bit. I want you all to throw your right arm in the air and do the splits.” He is serious. He demonstrates. I try. I fail…big time. In fact, I cannot even fathom how some of the guys can make their legs do that.

We move on to a second routine, which turns out to be exactly what I’ve been working on with Cara in our apartment. Now we’re in business! They play “Who Loves You” on the piano, and I feel one step ahead of Peter as he teaches us the moves. Now, I may not do them well (I’m still no dancer), but remembering the steps is 90% of the battle for me, and I am confident I will remember them all.

And I get lucky. There is one swaying and snapping move that Cara constantly poked fun at me about. I just couldn’t get it to look right. I could do the whole routine, but would have to stop at this place because my body just can’t move the way those boys’ did on YouTube. But this swaying move has been left out of the combination today! I don’t have to do it; and that means I am even more confident that I will rock this section. After a quick group review, the real audition begins.

Merri Sugarman comes into the room and introduces us to Sergio Trujillo. Sergio is the choreographer of
Jersey Boys
, an unbelievable dancer in his own right, and a big-time star in the theatre world. He is amazing to watch, has a reputation for being extremely specific with what he wants from actors auditioning for him, and is very intimidating to have in the room. Quickly, he and Merri take seats in the front of the room and all of us actors are asked to stand to the side. He calls out a group of three to the center of the floor, and right away music begins for the hip-hop routine. Three guys do the splits. Two guys do it beautifully, and the third guy probably won’t walk straight for a year.

The dancers are given only a few seconds to breathe before music begins for the second routine. They launch into it, do pretty well (except that poor guy who seems very much affected by his splits), and are sent back to the side of the room.

Three more guys are called. While they dance, I run through the routine in my head at the side of the room. Unfortunately, it is not socially acceptable to actually do the dance at the side of the room. Honestly, I am not sure why this is the case, but I know that you will be asked to stop if you try it. Probably has to do with keeping the choreographer’s focus clear on what is happening in the center. But I run through it in my head so I do not forget a step.

It’s my turn. About half the guys have danced so far. They place me at the center of the three of us, meaning I will finish my splits right in front of Sergio. We do the hip-hop routine and I remember every step. I feel cool. I act manly. I sweat so much that my fingertips drip. That’s right, my fingertips. I do the splits and, though I don’t even come close to getting them to the floor, I do the move cleanly and simply—and I don’t fall over. I stand up with a bit of a confident smile and get ready for the next routine. Which I rock! Oh, thank God for those lessons in my bedroom. I am sent back to the side of the room to wait with the others.

When all the guys have danced, Merri and Sergio take a few minutes to shuffle through our headshots. Then, the moment of truth. Merri says, “Thank you all for coming out here this morning. Special thank you to the two guys who flew in from Chicago for this. We are going to keep nine of you for a bit longer, but the rest of you are free to go home.” Being free to go home means you are no longer being considered for this show. Oh, I’m sure you could audition again in the future and improve your situation, but really it means that the two months you’ve just spent in callbacks have been ruined by the reaction to your dancing. I am not looking forward to being “free to go home.”

“Will the following people please stick around? David Richardson. Franklin Miller. Joseph Killian.”

PAUSE

“Brian Krantz.”

LONGER PAUSE

“Michael Lambert.”

REALLY LONG, COMPLETELY NERVE-WRACKING PAUSE

“Brett Lahey. Daniel Robert Sullivan.” I get to stay! Two more names are called, but I certainly cannot hear them with all the cheering going on inside my head. We nine are asked to come again to the center of the room in groups of three and perform both dance combinations. With no direction given, it seems Sergio just wants to get a better handle on what we can do. I do the routines pretty much the same as before, although I have much less nervous energy now. I feel a bit surer of myself now that I know I have been kept. Buck is also kept. He must have been one of the last two names called. That guy just keeps following me.

When we are all finished showing our stuff a second time, Sergio thanks us and asks us all to speak to Merri privately in the hallway. But first he’d like to see three guys privately himself: a guy named Howie Michael Smith, a guy with curly hair, and me. Now I really have no idea whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. It could very easily be, “These guys are my favorites,” or “Merri says these guys are well-liked, but they didn’t do well enough for me, so I guess I have to work them a bit more and see if they can cut it.” Sergio gives us no clue as to why he has kept us, but I look at the situation favorably because of the company I keep. I have never seen the curly-haired guy before, but Howie is currently playing the lead role in
Avenue Q
on Broadway. He is well-respected, well-liked, and very talented—so I am leaning towards this work session being a good thing.

We are taught just one move: a snapping step-touch that three of the actors do for their first entrance. It looks like a simple step, but Sergio is extremely precise (his reputation holds true). My back must be at this angle, my arms at that angle, my foot a little more behind the beat…ugh! It is not difficult to do the move, but very difficult to be so precise. When we finish this private session, he thanks us (oh no, Sergio, thank you!) and sends us out for our private talk with Merri. The guy with the curly hair did really well, so I expect him to be happy when he is called over to speak with Merri first. But she has a look on her face that projects some sympathy and he, a bit too loudly perhaps, says, “Awww, come on.” And he leaves. Angrily.

My turn. And I hear the magic words, “We’d like you to come back later.” Woo-hoo! Thank God for YouTube!

I leave the building, and Howie stays in
Avenue Q
for another two years.

With nothing really to do and an hour before it seems all right to go back in the building, I wander the streets of Midtown and dream. Seriously, I have never been this close to something this big in my life. People like to say it is pointless to get your hopes up, but if I didn’t get my hopes up I would be depressed all the time. Each audition creates a possibility of my childhood dream coming true, so I love these moments when the hard work is done and I can dream a bit about what might happen.

When I can’t wander anymore, and feel the audition rooms are empty enough that it would be all right to take over the bathroom there, I go back and change into my suit and tie. I comb my hair into a nice parted style and tune up my guitar. I review all the scenes, although by now I have them solidly memorized. I polish my shoes. I transform into a Bob understudy.

Five guys participate in this round, Buck included. While he was not one of the three kept for additional dancing with Sergio, he has been brought back for this session, proving that...well actually it proves nothing. It only reinforces the idea that an actor can never really know what the people on the other side of the table are thinking. I was asked to dance some more; Buck wasn’t. I was asked to come back later; Buck was too. (Auditioning this way reminds me of doing my taxes—I never really know what the result is going to be until it’s over. There are so many little variations and calculations that an amount owed could come just as easily as a refund.)